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Burnam’s Crossing was a ford at the Colorado River, but a ferry was operated here, also, in high water. From the east bank, where another settler lived, the Burnam ranch could be seen, opposite: a log house built like a block-house, and several out-structures. Ernest and his guide plashed through the water.

Yes, Captain Burnam was at home, for when they drew up before the hitching rail in front of the ranch yard a bearded man hastened from the corral to greet them.

“Howdy? Light and come in,” he called, cheerily. “Oh, boys! Put up these gentlemen’s hosses.”

A young man issued from the corral and with a word to Mr. Carroll led the two horses away. Ernest was introduced to Captain Burnam; and in the house to the rest of the family. At supper there was another boy, of dark eyes and hair, whose name was James Hill—or James Monroe, they called him, by his middle name, when they didn’t call him plain Jim.

He was older than Ernest, being fourteen, but he was a boy, just the same; and although there were boys in the Burnam family, Ernest was glad to meet as many boys as possible. It would have been pretty stupid, in Texas, without boys.